


hands

by aeolianharps



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:45:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeolianharps/pseuds/aeolianharps
Summary: enjolras is an important lawyer, has a big event to get to, and grantaire's driving him there. enjolras is struggling to get there. just a super pg vignette in their au life i have in my head





	hands

Enjolras isn't sure why he's sweating when he stoically dresses himself in a black suit, but the little warm drops do much for impairing him. Through the blur only does he finally catch sight of his shoes and tie. And, with some anxiety, he quickly throws his jacket off to find deodorant, before he becomes a wet seal in dripping black garb.

  
As usual, Grantaire had found his way into Enjolras' apartment in only such a way someone so equal in stupidity and cleverness can, though today with reason. He sat lazing on the couch, flipping through the channels and landing a winner only at Cartoon Network, and so he had been watching for the past two hours while Enjolras prepared. His eyes flick up to follow Enjolras' desperate figure fly by, curious but knowing Enjolras as very uninterested in regard to, say, "pity."

  
Yet, as the sound of the sink rushes on far longer than environmentally kind, Grantaire mutes the TV to quietly step-stone his way to the bathroom.

  
What he finds is a hunched figure, all soggy curls and terrible calm against a loud white sink, hands gripping white to the corners. In the mirror, Enjolras looks asleep, almost, except for the small outcry his eyelids persist in, or quiet riots his lips take in by twitching.

  
Grantaire notes the endless marks underneath his eyes which hang loud like a PowerPoint in a dark room full of people: "And This is How Little He Sleeps." Grantaire could name it easily, since the graph already existed within his mind with careful worry.

  
The rushing of the sink continues there like a divide.

  
"Ready, Apollo?" Grantaire breaks it gracelessly. It's a dumb question, since Enjolras' suit jacket is missing from him and the blonde is clearly napping in front of him.

  
Enjolras' eyes swoop up and open and halfway again in a slow response, taking in the casually dressed Grantaire in the mirror. Recognition cuts like acid through the haze. He rubs his face and knocks the sink handle into a stop.

  
"Not yet, Grantaire – sorry," and Grantaire knows something is wrong.

  
"The great Apollo apologizes? To a simple plebian?"

  
It gets worse, very soon, for Enjolras laughs, simply and with hardly even teeth to adorn it. He slopes down against the sink cabinet and pats at the spot next to him.

  
Grantaire is properly horrified.

  
"Sit down, Grantaire," says Enjolras at some length, smiling in some affectionate disdain at Grantaire's slowness.

  
There's a brief moment of recovery for Grantaire. He sits down with new relish beside Enjolras. "Couldn’t resist me any longer?' he asks, with a knock at the blonde's shoulder.

  
Enjolras doesn't do anything but lean his head back against the cabinet and let the warmth they have mingle at their shoulders. Grantaire clears his throat after they sit that way for some time and is keenly aware, suddenly, of how ugly he must be to him. "Hey, Enj, I'm all for cuddling" - he begins to pull away, his voice rather awkward -"but as your chauffeur and all, I should probably tell you we're going to be late if we don't leave soon."

  
And as if that is some invitation to disregard everything he just said, Enjolras takes one shaking finger up Grantaire's palm and slides his hand through Grantaire's own till the trembling stops. Grantaire's breath hitches.

  
He looks at his hand and back at Enjolras.

  
Grantaire gulps nervously and opens his mouth to retort, but Enjolras tightens his grip and says, very quietly but firmly still, "Be quiet, R."

  
He sits back down.

  
When they've sat there for God knows how long, Enjolras opens his eyes and says with a formal smile, "Go to the car, I'll be there in a second," and stands to find his jacket again.

  
His hand slips out of Grantaire's like water slips from oil - a sad comparison to his own eyes - but somehow it feels cleaner that way.


End file.
